Michael Myers VS Jason Voorhees Part 2 of 10
by Stanley Kubrick Fan
Summary: In this publically acclaimed tenpart fan fiction, taking place shortly after 'FREDDY VS. JASON', Jason Voorhees comes to Haddonfield, Illinois to reak havoc and become the king of violence and mayhem. Can Michael Myers stop him and become the crowning cha


Michael Myers VS Jason Voorhees

Fan-Fiction by Christopher Gallo

II. Michael

Michael Myers, having had his body earlier thrown violently into a small hole, grabbed the man's face. He squeezed as the ranger yelled in pain, the flesh tore from his face, blood oozing into the dirt. Michael tore the flesh from the ranger's face, as much as he could, and stuffed it in the man's mouth. He rose and then reattached his mask. He grabbed the ranger's nightstick from his holster and then walked off into the night. The nightstick felt heavy in his weak, blood soaked hands. Michael walked up to another ranger and smashed him over the face with the nightstick. The ranger fell to the hood of his car, his mouth bleeding excessively, coughing up teeth. Michael struck him again, in the jaw, and a slight crack was heard through the silent night. He struck him again, in the neck, and a bruise appeared, a small stream of blood thickening. Michael walked to the car door and opened it. The dispatch radio crackled on and he slammed the nightstick into it. Then again. He searched under the car seat, and found his sharp butcher knife the other ranger had confiscated. He wiped the blood from it, and then left the car door open, the dead body on the hood, and the mutilated ranger in the hole. Michael Myers had released himself from the hands of the authority, for now.

Michael bled helplessly as he crossed the street next to the gas station. A man stood inside a booth reading a Playboy. He walked to the booth, and the gentleman stared up at him. "I ain't got no candy." Michael reached under the hole in the booth and pulled out the man's hand. "Hey, what are you doin'?" Michael raised the knife, and then violently threw it down into the man's hand, sticking it to the wood counter outside the glass booth. The man screamed, and Michael walked into the small store next to the gas pumps. Halloween masks littered the shelves, and Michael walked up to one of them. He pulled a white William Shatner mask off the shelf, and then unattached his, throwing it to the ground. He ripped through the plastic container and pulled it out. Then, Michael adjusted it on his face, and the clerk behind the counter looked over at him. "Hey, buddy, you have to pay for that." Michael walked out of the store, and the clerk jumped over the divider. "Come back, shoplifter!" Michael turned around and elbowed the clerk in the face, then stabbed him in the gut. The clerk grabbed his chest in pain, and Michael snatched a lock of the man's hair, and lifted his head. "No man, don't kill me, please! Take the fucking mask, I don't care!" Michael slashed him across the face, and then slit his throat. He dropped him to the ground and continued on.

The night was quiet, even though the grasshoppers and crickets were out tonight. Michael finally reached a place to lay low. He spotted a house, and then walked up to the door, noticing an old couple, eating spaghetti dinner together, and Michael moved around back. There was a back door, and he quietly opened it. It was a door to a laundry room in the back of the house. He walked inside and closed the door slowly, then saw a cabinet. Michael walked to the cabinet and opened it. He noted that he could fit inside it, and sleep there. He moved inside and closed the door, but unfortunately, it wasn't quiet enough. The old man got up and slowly moved towards the laundry room. "Bedelia, I heard something, let me look." The old man entered through the door and looked around. Slowly, he walked towards the cabinet. He was about to open it, when he heard something shuffle around behind him. The old man turned, and saw a rat hurriedly make its way across to underneath the washer. The old man laughed and then walked to the door, opened it, and went back to the dinner table.

Michael woke up and heard the washing machine going. An old woman hummed the tune of "Oh, Susannah" as she poured clothes into the dryer. Michael tightened the knife in his hand and slowly cracked the door opened. The old woman was not paying attention, she didn't even see Michael. Until she looked in the mirror next to the tub of laundry. She turned around and Michael ripped through her stomach with the knife. He stabbed her again, then again, and walked to the side of her corpse, and went out the back door, ready to face the day.

Michael walked down the street when he came to a newspaper dispenser. It read:

"DEAD BODY FOUND ON HIGHWAY WITH MULTIPLE LACERATIONS TO THE HEAD: PRESUMED WEAPON: MACHETE".

He frowned behind the mask, it only meant one thing. Competition. He hid the knife by tucking it into his pants, and then kept walking. He saw all the signs on top of the buildings. "Novelty Bookstore", "The Chunka-Good Ice Cream Slab", and many more assortments of them. No one paid any attention to the fact he was wearing a mask after Halloween. Michael was a blur in the crowd, just another person.

He kept thinking about the newspaper title he had read. Michael had heard of an infamous, unkillable mass murderer known by "Jason Voorhees". But maybe it wasn't him. Maybe Haddonfield had only one monster to worry about: Michael Myers. Was this really competition? If so, Michael had to sharpen up for it, get ready. He had heard Jason had slaughtered almost a whole town of people with one weapon. It was time to test his wits.

Michael got to a small cottage with only one house in it. He walked over to the house and turned the doorknob. Locked. He checked the whole house, and finally found a way to get in. A small window, only a few feet above the ground, big enough to get in. Michael grabbed his knife and smashed it through the window. He set one hand on the windowsill and the other tucked pulled him up. He got halfway through the window, and cut himself on the broken glass. Slowly, and painfully, he pulled himself through the window and fell to a wooden floor, in a kitchen. He stood up, and blood trickled down his shirt. Michael walked to the drawers of a small cabinet, and opened them. Tons of knives. Butcher knives, cutting knives, special turkey knives. He took a butcher knife and examined it. He placed it in his pocket. "Freeze." Michael turned around and saw an old man staring at him. Michael pulled the butcher knife from his pants pocket and then walked towards the man. The man pulled a gun from his boot and aimed at Michael. Michael kept walking, and the man shot him in the leg. Michael stopped a second, and then kept on. The man fired two more times, missing both. He pulled back the trigger again and shot Michael in the stomach. Michael clutched his chest and fell over. The man held the gun in one hand as he slowly crept up to Michael. He leaned down and put his hand on Michael's shoulder, and then, Michael regained all consciousness. Michael turned and sliced the hand off his shoulder with the butcher knife, and then chopped the man's neck in half. The man fell over backwards; the gun fell out of his hands. Michael grabbed him by the neck and ripped his head off. He walked to the bathroom, and threw the head in the toilet.

Michael walked out of the door and through the small woods behind the cottage. Blood dripped from the butcher knife onto the leaves as Michael made his way around vines and tree stumps, until he got to backwoods Haddonfield.

Backwoods Haddonfield was a remote place, quiet, serene, and occasionally a few campers now and then. Michael spotted a man getting into his car. He walked to the car as the man opened the door. Michael was only a few feet away. The man got inside. Michael was right at the door, and the man closed it. Michael smashed his hand through the glass. "Hey what the fuck? You stupid bastard, what the fuck do you think you're doing?" Michael grabbed him by the throat and cut off his head. The man's head rolled down to his feet next to the gas pedal. Michael pushed the car down into the small lake and walked forward.

Michael kept walking until he spotted a figure in the distance. It was unclear, blurry, and his vision could barely tell what it was. But he knew. At least, he knew what covered it's face. A white hockey mask with red stripes across it, and a huge machete in the person's right hand.


End file.
